


lay these hands on time

by stitchbird



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Character Study, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I hope, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 15:20:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6244933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchbird/pseuds/stitchbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“I’ve never had anyone to miss before you.”</i> </p><p>Kageyama would never think to say something like that. He probably doesn’t even realize it's true. But that’s what Koushi understands in his silence, and it’s warm and welcome in a way that something so sad shouldn’t be.</p><p>—<br/>On the day of his final junior high tournament, Sugawara reaches out to a lonely setter looking to improve his serve. He gets more than he anticipated in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lay these hands on time

**Author's Note:**

> For [suikka](http://suikka.tumblr.com), for the Haikyuu! Rare Pair Exchange! Sorry I was probably like the last person to post their gift. All the IwaKage I tried to write was straight-up angst, so I switched gears at the last minute.
> 
> Sometimes I get emotional thinking about what a great senpai-friend Suga is, and how great it would have been for Kags had they met in middle school. This is the result.

\\\\\

“Okay, good job out there, Sugawara! Come on back!”

Koushi should be used to sharing the substitution zone with Fujishima by now. They’ve been being switched back and forth like this for the better part of their time in junior high; it’s routine. But the zone itself is a small rectangle, poorly defined, with just enough room for two people to stand without knocking into each other, and when stepping outside its boundaries before the referee’s go-ahead can result in the whole substitution being rendered _illegal_ , Koushi can’t help but become more conscious of the tiny space, and all the inconvenient things his body seems intent on doing within it.

Like sweating. Or shaking.

Fujishima’s got his hand on his shoulder, pressing down and thanking him for “holding everything together,” adding to the cheers of his teammates still following him off the court, and he’s being genuine, they all are, but the words bite today in a way they wouldn’t usually, because this is _it:_

14-20. Third set. Last tournament of junior high.

The referee gives them the signal and Koushi’s drifting in the direction of the bench, eyes trained on the number clutched in his hand—four, not the lowest of the third years, but close to it—as he makes to give it back to their manager. It slips out of his hand before he’s really let go, though, and the glare of the gymnasium highlights the added sheen on the handle.

Well, then, Fujishima had to have noticed how sweaty Koushi’s palms were when he handed the paddle off to him. _Embarrassing_.

A whistle chirps. 14-21.

Koushi has, in all likelihood, just played with his team for the very last time.

\

Uwamushi Junior High loses 17-25. It’s their second match of the day. 

They all arrived at the gymnasium on their own that morning, no bus, since the tournament was taking place so close to home. So when Coach offers to bring them out for lunch afterward, Koushi feels justified in declining. He can leave on his own, too.

It’s stupid. _He’s_ being stupid. If he’s going to cry, he should do it with everyone else. They’re all going to be crying. Especially the first years, who still aren’t used to tournaments being so intense. He should be there to comfort them and eat with them and joke with them on the way back home. That’s what everyone expects.

That’s what Koushi wants, too. Usually, just caring for his teammates after lost games and hard practices is enough to reinvigorate his spirit. But that’s also why he has to be alone for a while. There’s a weight on him now that feels so remote from his usual self that he’s not sure he’d be able to fill his role correctly. It’s confusing.

The halls of the gymnasium fan out in front of him. He picks a direction at random and heads off.

In the last match Koushi will ever get to play before starting high school, he was on the court for all of fifteen minutes. Five in the first set, ten in the third. 

That thought is the bulk of his uneasiness.

When Fujishima was named the starting setter in the beginning of their third year, Coach assured him it was in name only. That they’d be played more or less equally. And even when that turned out to not always be the case, Koushi didn’t mind so much. He lived for the moments he was switched into the game, he relished the ease of connection he had with his friends when they hit his tosses, and he gave everything he had for as long as he was given.

Today shouldn’t have been any different.

But everything in him is screaming that someone who hardly played in their most important game to date is only going to be a disappointment once they get to high school. Especially someplace like Karasuno. They aren’t a powerhouse school anymore, but they’re _good_. Deciding to go there, telling himself that he’s good enough to play for them—that means something.

It’s just run-of-the-mill insecurity. That’s what Koushi would tell anyone complaining of the same feelings. It’s meaningless. He shouldn’t let it get to him.

But it’s still a good idea to stick around for the rest of the matches. At the very least, he should wait for Kitagawa Daiichi to have a match. Just to study up on different techniques. Definitely not because he’s deficient in any way.

Koushi’s thoughts are stopped by a steady thumping around the next corner, near the row of vending machines.

A kid’s standing next to them, setting to himself with a volleyball he probably shouldn’t have removed from the gym. There’s a sucked-dry milk container dangling from a chewed up straw in his mouth, and the light down the hall is flickering irregularly, but he’s the picture of concentration, eyes pulled wide as they follow the ball’s impossibly straight path above his head.

Koushi slows down. The boy’s form is impeccable, even if he’s basically just playing catch with himself. The ball speeds downward, meets his hands, and shoots up again, a satisfying smack. The boy lowers his head in Koushi’s direction. After a moment, he blinks in what must be recognition, because then the next toss is coming his way.

Purely on instinct, he sends it back.

The boy’s eyes light up. He catches the ball easily and tucks it under his arm before removing the straw from his mouth and throwing the whole carton in the trash a little way down the hall. He lands the shot without even turning to glance at it. 

“You were pretty good today.”

He smiles, and the light down the hall flickers out for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the chapters should be up within the next few days. Look forward to more...just, more.


End file.
